Criminal Mischief

35

Once back at his house in New York, Stone sent Fred up with his bags and Brio up with hers. She could choose her own room. Then he settled in at his desk and waited for Joan to show up. It didn’t take her long.

“You look oddly well-rested.”

“I didn’t suffer from lack of sleep.”

“Who’s upstairs?” she asked.

“Brio Ness. I don’t know in what room.”

“I’ll find out.”

“No need to disturb her.”

“Any instructions?” she asked.

“Just get that letter to the director of the FBI.”

“It’s already there. I found a courier service.”

“Heard anything?”

“Nope.”

“Get me Lance Cabot, please.”

She buzzed Stone a moment later. “Lance on one.”

“I’m home,” Stone said.

“In the company of Mr. Zanian, I hope.”

“Sadly no. I’ve been thinking about the Middle East.”

“Lots of people do.”

“Is there some small country there, without a treaty, that might shelter Zanian?”

“Undoubtedly,” Lance said. “If Mr. Zanian has enough cash to impress a top diplomat or, perhaps, a sultan.”

“Do you have one in mind?” Stone asked.

“That depends on whether Mr. Zanian had the foresight to become a Muslim.”

“I hadn’t considered that.”

“It’s worth considering.”

“Which country?”

“The Sultanate of Saud,” Lance said. “The Sauds are cousins of the Saudis, but not as rich.”

“Who is?”

“Hardly anyone.”

“How much would it take to impress the sultan?”

“Well, Mr. Zanian deposited one hundred forty million dollars in the World Traders Bank today, in the Caymans.”

“Wow! Did he steal that much?”

“Estimates are north of two billion. I think his net worth would impress the sultan to the extent of offering him shelter, quietly, in his country.”

“How do we find out?”

“I suppose you’d have to know someone who knows the sultan.”

“Does anyone I know, know the sultan?”

“Perhaps.”

“The only person I can think of who might know the sultan would be you.”

“The sultan and I have had dealings in the past.”

“Is your arm long enough to poke an elbow in the sultan’s ribs?”

“Perhaps.”

“In that case, is there something I can do for you?”

“There might be,” Lance replied.

“Don’t be coy, Lance. What do you want?”

“Dame Felicity Devonshire,” Lance said, referring to the head of MI6, the British foreign intelligence service, “is not speaking to me — that is, she is not returning my calls. Find out why, and I will give you entrée to the Sultan of Saud.”

“Plain enough,” Stone said. “I’ll see what I can do.” He hung up and looked for Dame Felicity’s private number. The two of them were longtime friends and occasional lovers, her country house on the Beaulieu River in England being the neighbor of his place. He dialed the number, and to his surprise, she answered.

“I wondered when you’d get around to calling,” she said reprovingly.

“I’ve been lost in the Pacific for the past week,” Stone said.

“My recollection is that telephone service extends to that region of the planet, as it does to all regions. Apparently, Lance Cabot was able to reach you there.”

“Actually, I’m home again in New York, and I reached him. He is distraught.”

“Oh, really? Whyever would that be?”

“He fears that he has accidentally offended you in some way.”

“ ‘Accidentally,’ did you say?”

“Yes. Lance would never intentionally offend you, Felicity. He’s too fond of you for that.”

She emitted a short snort. “I doubt it.” But she sounded as if she might be softening.

“I’m absolutely certain of his affection for you, Felicity. Why are you torturing the poor fellow?”

“Well, I’m glad he’s noticed,” she said.

“Believe me, he has noticed and he is, as I have said, distraught. Don’t you think you could give him a call and put him out of his misery?”

“I know an assassin or two who could do that with ease.”

“I was speaking metaphorically,” Stone said, “as you well know.”

“Well, I will be at this number for a half hour or so, if he would like to ring me.”

“I’m certain he would. How are you?”

“I’m quite well, thank you. When are you coming over?”

“I’m embroiled in something right now. But when I get it sorted out, I would love to pay you a visit.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Stone,” she said, then hung up.

Stone called Lance. “I’ve spoken to Felicity,” he said. “And while she has not divulged the source of her hurt, she has deigned to accept your call at the private number during the next half hour.”

“Oh, she has deigned, has she?”

“That was my interpretation, not hers. You’d better get your ass in gear, pal, or you’re going to screw up again.”

“Oh, all right.”

“And right after that, you can give your friend, the sultan, a call and see if he’s harboring a criminal I know.”

But Lance had already hung up.

Joan buzzed. “Special Agent Ness is ensconced in the guest room next to the master suite,” she said. “And I have informed her that you’ll be having a late dinner in your study and that dress is casual, as you like to say. I take it that’s code for nude.”

“Let’s call it dressing down,” Stone said. “Thank you.” He hung up. He thought of calling Lance but decided he’d better wait to hear from him.